“Holy shit, thirty-five hundred dollars?” she yelped.
The redhead wandered over.
“Do you think that’s too high or too low?” he asked, sounding interested for the first time.
Darcy snorted. “Who’s going to pay three months’ rent to own a painting you can’t even hang over your couch?”
“I believe some people hang paintings in other locations from time to time,” he said. “But why can’t this one go over your couch?”
“I don’t like the message it sends,” she replied, trying and failing to imagine the painting in Teagan’s living room in the place of his mother’s tits.
“Too grim?”
“No, the painting saysI’ve never seen a horse before,” she said.
The redheaded man coughed like he was covering a laugh, expression sharpening.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Well, just look at it. The eyes are too big, the nostrils are too small, and a horse’s jaw doesn’t even open that far.”
They both considered the painting for a few moments more.
“Perhaps the artist was anthropomorphizing the animal to increase the viewer’s sympathy with it,” the redhead suggested.
Darcy squinted at the painting. “No, no. I think they just didn’t bother to Googlehorsesbefore they started drawing.”
“I doubt that, but I suppose all reactions to art are valid under several schools of criticism,” Darcy’s new friend said, but his expression also said that he did not belong to one of those schools.
“You think they did it on purpose?” Darcy asked.
“I do,” he said, expression very stiff.
“Why?”
He took a sip from his glass of red wine. “I painted it.”
Darcy was so surprised that she snorted the club soda she’d been drinking, managing to spray the poor man as shecoughed and sputtered.I have a drinking problem too, she’d tell Teagan, who loved a dad joke.
When she recovered, the artist’s appalled expression was nearly enough to send her into hysterical laughter. She’d gone and made a scene after all. A few heads were turning to see whether anything fun was happening. No, not yet.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Darcy said. “I’m just uncultured. I’m sure the actual guests will like the horse. This perfectly normal, accurate, ordinary-looking... horse.” She strove for sincerity, but she could barely get the words out past her giggles.
The artist hesitated like he was considering just walking away, but he ultimately brushed his face off with his sleeve and put his hand out. His shoulders slumped as though he’d decided to take his lumps.
“Adrian Landry,” he introduced himself. “An artist who has definitely seen many horses.”
“Darcy Albano. Horse enthusiast.” They shook on it.
Darcy expected him to excuse himself after that bit of awkwardness, but he shot a cautious glance at the group of people Teagan and Nora were speaking with and stuck his hands into his pockets instead. She supposed he didn’t have anyone to talk to at this thing either.
Adrian gestured with his head for Darcy to follow him to the exhibition space for the kids’ artwork. They examined paintings of cats, rainbows, tennis shoes, and superheroes in general silence as each of them waited in vain to be retrieved.
“You’re here with Teagan Van Zijl?” Adrian finally asked.
“Yes—do you know him?”
“I know—or knew—all the Van Zijls, actually. Nora has been my gallerist for most of my career, and of courseshe’s very involved in the foundation. She brought Margaret Van Zijl to one of my first shows—she bought two of my paintings.”
